a (mis)guiding shove
by accio-ambition
Summary: Poor communication skills result in high schoolers Emma Swan and Killian Jones sharing the floor of their elder brothers' dorm room during a weekend visit. Unconsciousness, a party, and a slip of the tongue later, David and Liam concoct a plan to matchmake their younger siblings. For their own good, of course. College/sibling AU
1. Making the best of a bad situation

"Liam should just be getting back from class," David says, shouldering open the stairwell door. "You remember him, right?"

"Of course I do," Emma replies. "He's only been your roommate since freshman year. If I wasn't sure you had a girlfriend, I'd consider you guys my favorite couple."

Despite himself, David chuckles. His sister's always had a weird sense of humor, only cultivated by the years of cynicism and abandonment preceding their mother adopting her. "You know, sometimes, I think Mary Margaret wouldn't hesitate to agree with you."

He digs his keys from his pocket and knocks on the wooden door of his dorm room. It's their signal, a precaution taken every time the door is closed. They don't want a repeat of the one time Liam accidentally walked in on him and Mary Margaret in more of an intimate embrace. As Emma struggles with her bag over her shoulder, David hears voices coming from within. Cautiously, he jiggles the knob and finds the door already open. Pushing the door ajar, he finds the majority of the space in his shared room occupied by two tall, dark-haired men.

Emma speaks from behind him, her voice gruff. "Can you move? This may not look heavy, but after the day I've had, I'm done with this bag."

David apologizes and moves out of the way. Upon hearing another voice, the two others in the room turn around. One is Liam, thankfully, but the other looks too similar to his roommate to be anyone other than the younger brother he speaks so highly about.

"Dave, mate, what's going on?" Liam asks, his hand gesturing to Emma and her overnight bag. "Mary Margaret isn't going to be too pleased when she finds out you've picked up another lady on the side."

"Jesus! If you cheat on Mary Margaret, David, I will end your life." Her threat is empty for now, but it sure does get the brothers' attention. Their eyes are the same shade of blue, more pronounced with their eyes wide with shock as she smashes her bag on the ground near the closet. Standing up, Emma stretches briefly and then holds her hand out to Liam. "Guess you don't remember me, but I'm Emma. David's sister, not his side hoe."

Liam laughs but his brother's eyes grow even bigger, if possible. "Of course. I apologize profusely. Lovely to see you again." He shakes her hand and then claps it on the shoulder of his still-shocked brother. "This guppy here is my little brother, Killian Jones. Killian, this is my roommate David Nolan and his sister Emma."

"Emma Swan," she corrects him. "Long story, but I swear he's my brother."

Killian's jaw hangs open as Emma sticks out her hand for a shake. It takes a moment for the circuits to connect correctly, but he eventually takes her hand, then her brother's.

"What are you doing here?" David asks Killian, their hands still firmly grasped across the bed between them.

"I'm here for the weekend," he explains, pointing to the rucksack on Liam's covers. "Big brother wanted me to come and visit before exams got to be too overbearing." With a lift of his eyebrow, Killian nods to Emma. "I'm assuming it's the same tale for you, love?"

She rolls her eyes from her perch on the mattress before nodding in reluctant agreement. David looks at Liam, their eyes meeting and confusion echoing through the connection. "I thought you said he was coming next weekend?" David says.

"No, Killian was staying this weekend and Emma the next."

It's an argument in the making that's put quickly on hold. Looking toward David, Emma sighs and asks, "When do you guys plan on going to sleep? It's been a long day and if you plan on partying the entire night, I'll just go down to Mary Margaret's room and sleep there."

"Nonsense," Killian admonishes. He physically brushes the idea away with a wave of his hand. "I'm quite knackered as well – drove up here from New London earlier today."

"Interesting," Emma drones, clearly feeling the opposite of what she's said. Sighing again, she groans as she sits up. "Well, what are the sleeping arrangements then? Should I go down to Mary Margaret's room?"

"Emma, no, you're the guest. If your brother hasn't already offered you his bed, you can sleep in mine and I'll take the floor," Liam insists.

David rolls his eyes and scoffs. "D'you really think I'm such a bad brother that I haven't told her she can sleep in my bed?"

Moaning, Emma grabs her pajamas from the top of her bag and heads toward the door. "I don't mind sleeping on the floor, there's no need for anyone to be chivalrous. Just throw me a couple blankets and I'll sleep next to whoever isn't afraid I'll give them cooties."

When she returns from changing in the bathroom and saying a brief hello to Mary Margaret, Killian's curled up on the floor, both their brothers in their respective beds. "Well," she drawls, throwing her dirty clothes on her bag. "So much for guests and that shit."

"Shut it, Emma," David grumbles into his pillow. "You were the one who wanted to go to bed."

0000

It's nearly three in the morning and, like clockwork, Liam's bladder forces him awake. It's yet another remainder of his and Killian's questionable childhood. Unsure if anyone would make it home during the night, Liam took to drinking two glasses of water right before going to sleep every night. That way, he'd be forced to wake up in the middle of the night to check on his little brother. He could've stopped once he turned 16, when the brothers Jones moved in with their Aunt Belle, but old habits die hard.

Silent and well-practiced, Liam rolls out of bed. He stands for a second, gathering his wits and steadying his bearing. It's only then that he remembers not one, but two bodies make the trek across the dark room harder. He lets his eyes adjust to the night, staring at the ground somewhere in the vicinity of where Killian fell asleep.

What he sees when he's become accustom to his night vision makes Liam smile. His little brother's body is beside his bed, mere inches from his feet, but unexpectedly, it's curled around Emma's. His forehead rests between her shoulder blades and her arm lies over his on her waist.

His younger brother seems happy in his sleep, as does his roommate's sister. They're cute. When Liam returns from the loo a few minutes later, they had shifted so Emma's head was pillowed on Killian's chest.

"Quite the catch you're reaching for, little brother," Liam murmurs to himself, pulling the covers back up to his chin. "Best of luck."

0000

It's hours later that the sun streams through the creases in the curtains, waking David up way too early on a Saturday morning. He shuffles around, making unattractive grunting noises in an attempt to burrow back into unconsciousness.

It's not working.

Reluctantly, David stretches, forcing even more noises from his throat until he remembers that Liam isn't the only one he could annoy this morning. He doesn't know much about Killian, but he knows his sister well enough to immediately cease his noises or else risk waking the tiger she becomes when she hasn't had her eight hours.

It's curious, though; Liam himself is always awake before him and Killian is an earlier riser as well. So the fact that it's…9:27 in the morning and nobody in their crowded dorm is awake is a bit unusual.

David leans over the side of his mattress, looking at the floor space between his and his roommate's bed. It's barely big enough to fit two backpacks when the room is clean, but it's the largest amount of open space they have for guests.

To say he's disconcerted by the scene between the sheets that greets him is an understatement. He knows Emma can take care of herself – she survived the foster care system for far too long before finally coming home with their mother – but he can't help the big brother protective urges sometimes. He always made sure she got the lunch money if Mom had forgotten to give some to both of them, or that the Stenson boys got shoved into their respective lockers when they made fun of Emma. And right now, it's one of those instances.

Not bothering to stay quiet anymore, David stands up mere centimeters from Emma's face. He skillfully edges himself around her sleeping form and begins kicking Killian in the back a little more forcefully than he really should.

With a snort, the younger Jones jolts awake. He rolls over onto David's stationary foot, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes. Before he can even say a word, David grabs Killian by the shirt collar and drags his stumbling figure out into the hallway.

With his finger at attention directly between Killian's eyes, David asks, "What funny business do you think you're trying to get into?" He growls at the younger boy, backing him up into the closest wall. "On _my_ floor with _my_ sister?"

"Nothing, mate," Killian assures him, his hands coming up in a show of surrender. "Nothing, I swear."

David looks at him – tries to look through him for his true intentions – and his search comes up empty. Killian's got nothing but honesty in his expression: wide eyes, raised eyebrows. He looks a lot like his brother after he learns an underdog sports team wins by a landslide. He's just surprised.

Reluctantly, David calms his defense mode. "Don't try anything," he warns. "Your brother might be my best friend, but I will not hesitate to beat you and then cut off your hand."

"Dave, mate, I swear, I'm not trying anything." Now that his wits have woken up, Killian draws himself to full height. He's only an inch or two taller than David, but it works its charm. "I had a lass back home, I'm used to sleeping next to her," he explains. "I'm sorry, I must have unconsciously thought Emma was her."

"Oh," David mutters. "Okay. But don't get any ideas."

Killian scoffs and pats him on the shoulder. "Worry not, mate. The girl's got walls sky-high. I don't think I could try anything even if she let me."

 **a/n: A brand new MC? I know, right? I've been working on this so long, I don't even remember where the idea came from. Oh well. This story is all written out, so I should be able to post it rather frequently (unlike I did when Shower Streams first came out, cough cough sorry).**

 **Many thanks to Cathy, who's ultraluckycatnd on tumblr, for being my beta, and for the at least two other people who read some part of this over. I don't remember who you are, but I am very much grateful.**

 **As always, feel free to leave a word - any questions, comments, or concerns. Until next time :)**


	2. Under the right circumstances

College is a lot different than Emma anticipates. The food is much better, the light hours much lazier, and the general feel a lot more comforting. Granted, if she had been sent off on her own, she might have thought differently. But with David guiding her through a nice Saturday afternoon, Liam and his brother at their side, it's easy.

The dining hall gives them time to catch up between siblings – David asking if Emma has any further idea what she wants to major in when she heads off on her own collegiate adventure in the fall, Killian and Liam discussing the latest upset in the futbol world – before cohesively spending their day lounging about the dorm and campus.

College, Emma considers, is a lot more relaxing than she thought.

But the nights are exactly how she expected them to be. She can't very well get changed and ready with David and the Jones brothers in the same room, especially with the outfit she intends on wearing. So she spends an hour and a half hanging out with Mary Margaret, her brother's girlfriend, and her roommate Ruby. They giggle about everything and by the time David's knocking on their door and they can hear Liam complaining through the wood, all three girls are ready.

Mary Margaret opens the door and Emma sees her brother's jaw drop from behind his girlfriend's shoulder. Ruby easily slides past them to all but hang off Liam as he leans against the wall.

"We can't get dolled up without a little bit of time," she practically purrs, "and some magic." Ruby taps a finger on Liam's chin, easing his lips closed.

"Damn, Rubes," David says once he drags his eyes away from his girlfriend. "It's just your standard frat party. Who are you trying to impress?"

"Everyone." Her answer seems quite in tune with the image Ruby's been portraying since they met a couple hours ago, but Emma gets the distinct impression that Ruby only has eyes for the guy in front of her, as gobsmacked as he may be.

But then Ruby's gaze turns to her. Even before she speaks, Emma can feel her cheeks heating up. "Besides, I think that question is better suited for your little sister, David."

And that's when Emma's least favorite thing happens: all eyes turn to her. Or rather, on her shirt. It's quickly become her favorite for any occasion, not that she would wear it to school or work. No, the loose halter top with sparkles up and down the sides grabs the attention of anybody in a five mile radius. And the fact that she can't wear a bra beneath it adds to the mystique and risk of the night. Maybe she'll meet someone or cause a rift in the party.

Mary Margaret and Ruby wear supportive smiles, as does Liam, or his equivalent of one. David's face is disapproving, not that she isn't surprised.

It's the younger Jones' expression, though, that has her blush deepening to the color of red velvet at least. His eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted, and if she had to guess what was going on in his mind, it involved her being naked. Emma's not embarrassed, per se, but she doesn't have the confidence to look at him straight. She stares at the tiled floor instead.

"You're not wearing that," David says succinctly. "You're not taking another step until you put something else on."

Emma groans. "C'mon, big brother, it's college." Putting on her best pout, she tugs on his hand. "I don't have anything else to wear."

"Yeah, but you're still in high school." He glances at Ruby, then at his girlfriend. "I'm sure Mary Margaret has something you can borrow. Something much less…revealing."

Crossing her arms, Emma leans against the doorjamb, causing her shirt to shift. She knows she's safe from a wardrobe malfunction, but the way David nearly jumps in front of her and the way Killian grins inform her that they have no clue about women's clothing. "David, I'm going to this party, and I'm either wearing this shirt or going naked."

Her brother shakes his head. "You wouldn't do that."

She smirks. "Do you really want to test me on that?"

A moment passes before David rolls his eyes and huffs. "Fine," he concedes, "but you're leaving with us tonight. No strangers."

Pushing off the doorway with her shoulder, Emma sassily salutes her brother. "Yes, sir."

David groans, but takes Mary Margaret's hand in his. "Let's get this over with."

0000

The house is hopping with movement when they arrive. People have spilled out to the front yard, red solo cups still in hand. Pumping music leaks between the window cracks and jarred doors. It's a surprise the police haven't shown up, if you ask Emma. All this place needs is a blinking neon sign 40 feet in the air announcing there's a party here, at this house.

A cup is shoved in everyone's grip as they enter the residence and another frat boy passes by with plastic shot glasses filled with who-knows-what shortly afterwards. Ruby hands Emma two, but only after knocking back three herself. With a smack of her lips and a sigh, Ruby claps her hands.

"Alright, let's get this party started."

Following her lead, Emma chokes down the two shots, tasting vaguely of strawberry, before straggling after the girls. Ruby and Mary Margaret introduce her to a few people – Elsa, Tia, Regina and her boyfriend – before going their separate ways. Her brother's girlfriend off to find David, she's sure, while Ruby prowls directly toward Liam.

Emma watches them for a little bit, unintentionally being ignored as the others discuss collegiate topics. Ruby interrupts Liam as he's speaking with Killian, her hands sliding into his jacket pockets. Even in heels, she's not as tall as he is, but she has enough height to whisper in his ear. Liam turns around at her voice with a mischievous grin, and they escape with their arms around each other, leaving Killian alone.

Naturally, Emma sidles over to him, avoiding the sleazy drunk guys around her until she's comfortably in his personal bubble.

"Got the ol' brush off, huh?" she asks nonchalantly, taking a sip of her drink. She has no idea what it is either, but it doesn't taste half bad. There's a sharp burn at the end of every swallow, but it turns into a pleasant warmth the more she consumes it.

Killian gives a small smile and shrugs. "It isn't the first time he's abandoned me for a lass," he explains with a sigh. "At least he had the decency to leave before starting his shenanigans this time."

Emma tries to hide her chuckle with a shudder, but fails.

Killian looks down at her, some sort of misty haze covering his eyes. "Swan, you," he starts, but his tongue gets in the way and his words falter. He stares down into his cup, halfway filled by the looks of it, and takes a swig. Killian gulps it down and begins again. "Swan, you look stunning. I meant to say it earlier, but…"

The smile on her face is genuine, and maybe it's the alcohol flowing through her veins or the way he's just referred to her as Swan – a graceful and beautiful bird, something she never associates with herself – but she feels goofy. "I know," Emma smirks, raising her gaze from the rim of her drink to his bright eyes. Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder. "You clean up well yourself, you know."

"Really?" He sounds surprised, like he's never really received a compliment from anyone before. His cheeks go red as he sways into her more. "May I be even more frank with you, love?"

"Of course," she agrees, "but only if you're Killian after."

Killian gives her a side glance and a pitying laugh for show. "Quite the jester, aren't you, Lady Swan?" He clears his throat and, hesitatingly, he drapes an arm around her waist, pulling her even closer than before. "I was going to apologize for being a fool earlier, but I couldn't seem to take my eyes away from -"

Emma gasps, causing him to stop in the middle of his sentence. A smile crosses her face and she looks up at him. "This is my song," she murmurs. They're so close together that, even as close to the pounding bass speakers as they are, she knows Killian hears every word they've been saying.

Dropping her cup on a nearby table, Emma takes his hand and endeavors to drag Killian into the crowd of coeds. She meets an opposing force though: Killian's being stubborn, keeping himself firmly in the corner of the room and away from the action.

"C'mon!" Emma urges him.

But he shakes his head. "I don't dance."

With a shrug, she assimilates with the crowd, a "your loss" caught up amongst the gyrating bodies.

Her hands are in the air and she's sure she looks the perfect part of stereotypical white-girl-wasted, but she doesn't give one shit. She's having fun, screaming the lyrics as they come and go – _Don't you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me_. It's a reprieve from the stress of the future and exams and…well, everything.

Strong arms pull her hands down, interlacing her fingers with their own. Emma's eyes open wide to find Killian looking right at her, his own body moving to the same tempo as hers.

"So you do dance," she states over the din.

"Under the right circumstances."

She laughs and pulls Killian closer to her. He willingly comes to her this time, a devastating smile on his face as their foreheads gently crash together. Using that connection as a steadying point, Emma turns herself around with a snicker.

Against her own volition, she feels herself dancing against him: her back to his front, his hands on her waist again, her hips cradled in the curve of his. He murmuring in her ear – stupid things, bad jokes it sounds like from the few words she catches – and she's laughing so hard she isn't sure she'll think anything else is funny ever again.

All of a sudden, there's not enough oxygen in the air. The room's narrowed to colors and blurry shapes. Emma feels herself starting to lose control, her mind caught up in something entirely different. Her chest rapidly rises and falls, doubletime of the current song's beat. She searches for something, anything, to ground her in the middle of this attack.

Firm pressure. She feels firm pressure on her hips and Emma grasps for it. Multiple points dig into her hips and it's too much and too little all at once. She loses her footing, slipping on something she can't see.

Falling. She realizes she's falling, but the back of her head hits something solid and something else supports all of her body weight.

Then the colors and shapes disappear, overcome by black.

0000

"Faint," Emma giggles out. "Faint and paint. Paint faint traint saint." And then she groans. She's coming down from her high, the drinks she's had slowly working their way out of her system.

"Just a few more stairs," David assures her. They come to a halt three steps from the top to let Emma catch her breath, and then they make the final trek to Ruby and Mary Margaret's dorm room.

"I'm sorry for making you leave so early," Emma apologizes. Her arm rests across her brother's shoulders, supporting the majority of her weight, while Ruby's hands hold her waist. Mary Margaret is ahead of the three of them, busy unlocking their door.

"Don't worry about a thing, honey," she comforts her. "It's for the best, I'm sure. Better you faint when you've got friends to keep an eye on you. Besides, you and David have to get up for a train in the morning."

"I still don't understand why I had to come back," Ruby mutters grumpily. "I was just about to drag Liam into a closet and strip him of -"

"Ruby, I don't want to know what unspeakable things you were going to do to my roommate because we both know that time is not going to keep you from doing it."

She chuckles, but is cut off when Emma's knees buckle beneath her again. "God, Emma, how much did you drink?"

Finally easing their way through the door, Emma giggles and collapses into a heap on the closest mattress. Her eyes slide shut, the lights in the room too bright in her current state.

"You don't mind her staying here for the night?" she hears David ask.

Something cushy is pushed into her arms and she's gently nudged off the bed. Ruby's handed her a sleeping bag from who-knows-where and wordlessly points at the floor between the beds. Emma knows when she's been dismissed. She morosely unfurls the contraption and burrows into it, her vision going dark once more.

"It's not a problem, babe," Mary Margaret says. She's closer to the door, her voice just a tad harder to hear. "Just make sure you set an alarm for the morning so she doesn't miss her train."

There's sort of a squelching noise and Ruby groans. Emma assumes the happy couple is kissing goodnight and whispering sweet nothings to each other at the exit. Her mind's stuck somewhere between memories of the party – of the music, the dancing, Killian's compliments – and a full mental reproduction of _In the Heights_ , as performed by her high school drama club two years ago.

She's curled up on the floor, the room dark now, but the other two are still mulling about, changing out of their party clothes and into their pajamas. They whisper, talking of who they saw hooking up with whom at the house, who didn't show up with their girlfriend, what kind of playlist was on.

"But did you see them in the strobe lights?" Ruby asks her roommate. "Both their eyes were red. And with the smell in the backyard, they were definitely lighting up."

"I didn't think Ashley smoked," Mary Margaret states over the creaks of the mattress as she settles into bed. "I talked with her before we left and she was coherent."

"You know who has great eyes?" Emma butts in. She's not completely coherent, her eyes shut and her words slurring with sleep and alcohol. No answer comes – they've probably forgotten about her, many people do – but she continues her train of thought with a dreamy sigh. "Killian. They're really blue. Like the sky in the summer."

Ruby's the one to respond to her, quietly. "Yeah," she agrees. "They're really nice."

"No, you don't understand." The severity in her words surprise even herself, but Emma swiftly eases herself back toward unconsciousness. "They're gorgeous. I could stare at them forever and ever." She sighs again. "And his voice. I wish he would talk me to sleep, it sounds so nice."

"Really now?" Mary Margaret says. "Is that all you like about Killian?"

Emma shakes her head, alternatingly burying and unearthing her nose from the pillow. "God, no. He smells good too, and we slept on the floor together last night and he kept me warm and it was really nice."

Silence ensues. Emma's almost asleep when Mary Margaret makes one more soft inquiry.

"Emma, if Killian asked you out, would you say yes?"

Her breathy _yes_ is the last thing she says before promptly falling into a deep sleep.


	3. Aftermath, with a side of cheese

When David knocks on Mary Margaret's door, he's greeted with a chorus of groans. He knows for a fact that his girlfriend is at least conscious, if not awake – she texted him not five minutes ago. Ruby and Emma, though, aren't the most pleasant of early risers.

To his surprise, Emma is the one to open the door. Her hair is a mess and her eyes are rimmed in smudged black makeup.

"If you make one comment on how I look right now, I will murder you," she threatens him.

"What are you going to tell Mom?" he retorts.

Emma scoffs and walks right past him toward his room. "Oh, she'll agree with me."

He starts to yell down the hall that Killian and Liam are still sleeping, but the banging of his door tells him he's too slow. And the tell-tale grumbles he hears a minute later echoing down the corridor indicate that his sister isn't being gentle with her packing.

"She slept through the entire night, dead until dawn," Mary Margaret says through a yawn. He hasn't had many opportunities to see her in this state – half-awake, sleep in the corner of her eyes, short hair tousled by her tossing and turning through the night.

"She still seems hungover."

Laughing, his girlfriend entangles her fingers with his. "Babe, it's like you didn't see the amount of alcohol your sister drank last night."

"I purposefully didn't," David says. "I don't want to know what Emma gets up to."

Mary Margaret hums, understanding his point. David, on the other hand, sighs, and reaches out to curl his arm around her shoulders. Her sleep-warmed body leans into him, tucking her head underneath his chin.

"Emma really likes Liam's brother," she mumbles into his shirt.

David startles, but tries to keep his cool. "What do you mean?"

"C'mon, David." Looking up at him, she rolled her eyes at him. "She fell asleep talking about how pretty his eyes were and how she wished he was around to talk her to sleep."

Shocked, he pulls back from his girlfriend, pushing her back into her room gently. "Mary Margaret, don't joke with me about this," he says in a low voice. Pointing down the hall, he continues, "That is my little sister and my best friend's little brother."

Giggling, his girlfriend takes his hands in hers. "I've never seen this side of you."

"What side? There is no side, it's just me."

"The protective big brother side of you," Mary Margaret responds. She swings their arms between them, then steps further into his bubble. "It's kinda hot."

His heart beats faster, the soft smile on her face making him blush. It's barely nine in the morning and David can't help but imagine the scores of ineffable things he wants for them. He cannot believe how lucky he is that this sweet girl ran into his room when a mouse skittered into her bed freshman year.

Alas, his sister should be his priority now – getting her up and fed and out to the train back home. He presses a kiss to Mary Margaret's forehead and backs away. "I'll be back by one. Probably. And we can hang out then."

She nods. "Good. I might be here or in the library. I have that presentation on Tuesday I need to work on a little more." Squeezing his hands, Mary Margaret kisses him once more on the cheek. "You'll find me, I'm sure."

"I'll always find you," David assures her. "Don't you ever worry about that."

0000

"These waffles don't have enough powdered sugar on them," Emma complains mid-bite.

"Hasn't seemed to stop you so far," her brother quips back. David, like a civilized human, cuts at his omelet and places a manageable bite in his mouth, chewing thoroughly before speaking again. "What are you up to for the rest of the semester?"

Emma shrugs, too busy shoveling parts of her omelet in her mouth. It might be disgusting, the way she's rendered to grunting and animalistic tendencies when she eats, but living and knowing his sister as well as he does, it doesn't bother David any longer. She's told him how there were days in her youth where she went hungry – being too short or too small or too late to get some of the meal in the group homes. Usually at home, she can control it, has been taught and conditioned to take her time and savor the food. But every once in a while – and especially when hungover, as she evidently is now – old habits rear their heads.

"I'm taking four AP tests over three days," she finally says after washing down her food with iced tea. "And then I have to sign up for my orientation."

"When are you doing that?"

Shrugging again, Emma pokes what remains of her breakfast with her fork. "Probably early June. I want some time to relax after graduation and Mom told me she won't drive me all the way up to Providence, so you need to be home to drive me."

David struggles not to choke on the sip of water he'd just taken. "I have to drive to orientation?" he asks. Emma nods in confirmation. "When was she going to tell me that?"

"I don't know."

He rubs his forehead. "I'll call her tonight, make sure it doesn't interfere with my plans."

"What, making plans to go home with Mary Margaret's parents?" Emma teases.

Little does she know those were exactly his plans. They had been planning on visiting her parents at their lake house soon after finals ended. She'd come to Thanksgiving the past two years, her parents off in California with her half-sister and her son. After nearly three years of dating, Mary Margaret figured it was time she return the favor. David hadn't wanted to tell anyone – Emma especially – for fear of poor judgement accusations.

Briefly, his mind slips to the conversation he had with Mary Margaret this morning and his brain conjures up images of the future – him and Mary Margaret on the beach at the lake house, but joined by his sister and Killian instead of his girlfriend's parents. It's an interesting picture, one that shakes him to his core. David focuses on keeping his poker face: the future is worthless if he doesn't have a mind to maintain the present secret.

But Emma figures it out, right there on the other side of the diner booth. He can tell by the way her jaw drops fractionally and she looks up from her empty plate.

"Have you told Mom yet?" she asks, to which he answers with a shake of his head. Emma whistles and starts laughing. "She's gonna freak out, you know that, right? She's already on marriage watch with you two."

"Which is precisely why you're not going to tell her." It's an empty threat, his voice too playful and his wary fist too loosely curled.

Hands up in surrender, his sister's laughter evolves into full-fledged guffaws. "I had no plans to, I promise." Emma continues laughing and, when it subsides enough for her to breathe normally, she says, "You know, it wouldn't be totally horrible for you two to get hitched."

"Nope," David says firmly. "Nope, we are not talking about this. Not here, not now, not ever."

With a smirk, Emma takes up her fork again, drawing little figures with the tines. "Whatever you say, big brother. Whatever you say."

0000

Liam has a surefire hangover cure: sleep, Gatorade, and cheese, in that order. Get a solid nine or more hours of sleep, drink two bottles of lemon-lime Gatorade, then eat as many plates with cheese that the diner is offering that afternoon.

His habit is severely interrupted when Emma crashes in five hours into his minimum nine, throwing her clothes off and on her body and into her bag. With a goodbye gripe and resounding slam, she stumbles out the door.

"What the bloody fuck was that?" Killian mumbles from the floor. To be quite honest, Liam had forgotten his brother was over. Again. A brief glance over the side of the bed shows his little brother's face buried in the pillow, his arms hidden beneath it and his body twisted in the covers.

He doesn't have time to open his mouth before his roommate reenters much more quietly. "Sorry, guys," David apologizes. "Emma's not a morning person."

"Understatement of the century," Liam mutters under his breath. Listening to David shuffle around the room for his wallet, he readjusts his position and quickly falls back to sleep.

When he wakes up four hours later, the sun shines brightly through the window shades. It's an unpleasant sensation – burning and honestly too goddamn bright for the human eye – but much less so than it was this morning.

The door shuts again, much less harshly, admitting his little brother back into the room. Killian groans and flops on David's bed. "It's too fuckin' early for this nonsense."

"Worry not, little Killy," Liam says, employing a nickname from when they were kids. "You just need some liquids and food and you'll feel fine."

"Don't call me that," Killian grumbles, "and don't talk to me about food. Even speaking of it makes me nauseous."

Getting out of bed, Liam trips over the blankets still on the ground to fall on top of his brother. Killian moans and coughs, trying to keep himself from succumbing to him as he usually does. Liam can't help but laugh.

"Food only makes you sick because you need some in that gut of yours," he assures him. And with a slap to the back of the head, Liam pushes off Killian. "C'mon, Killy. Trust your big brother."

0000

Even Liam has to admit that the dining hall seems much further away than it should be this afternoon. His feet are heavy and the extra baggage of Killian dragging behind him and getting lost at the drop of a pin is a nuisance. But when he finally sits down across from his brother with a bowl of macaroni and cheese and a cheeseburger in front of him, he is content.

Killian takes a hesitant bite of his quesadilla. Liam waits, knowing exactly what's coming. To his knowledge, this was Killian's first foray into alcohol and its unfortunate after effects. Straight-laced, Liam knew his brother's dream to join the naval forces. He'd even passed his general entrance exams into the Naval Academy not two months ago. Liam remembers his first hangover being the worst, from what he can recollect of it, but the moment his taste buds met cheese – euphoria.

He can see it on his little brother's face now: his eyes slide shut and he chews contemplatively. Killian groans in appreciation. He begins scarfing down the rest of his quesadilla. "This is far and wide the best idea you have ever had, Liam."

Liam laughs around a spoonful of macaroni. "You always seem surprised," he teases, "like I haven't lived through these experiences before."

"Brother, how many times have you figuratively and actually led me into problematic situations?"

All Liam can do in response is shrug. "What can I say?" he asks. "I'm supposed to teach you and ruin your life."

Killian grumbles, "You do both annoyingly well, I will admit that."

"I'm glad you're that willing," Liam begins, "because it's about to get much worse."

It's always like this: Liam practically dragging details of his baby brother's life out of him like a hook from a fish. Every call, every Skype session, every visit – it's always the same. He knows Killian is a private person, but everybody needs someone else to share their burdens with. That's how they've gotten so far in life: because they've done it together.

"How are things at home with the lasses?" he asks. He's been curious since he woke up to him and Emma in each other's embrace two nights ago. Liam's got an inkling: there's something about Killian, something new and fresh and reinvigorating that points to the presence of someone new and exciting for him. As his older brother – and for future purposes of torture – it's only natural Liam know everything.

"Stagnant," is his reply. "Nothing, no one, I'm focusing on school and graduation and the Academy," Killian insists. It's the standard line he gives every time they speak, but now that they're talking in person, Liam can see the furtive look in his eye, the fidget in his fingers, and the slight blush rising on his cheeks.

"So there is a girl."

"No. There is no girl."

Liam chuckles and relaxes into the back of his chair. "There's definitely a girl."

Killian waits a moment before he slowly starts nodding his head. Quickly, though, he clarifies: "Just a lass who intrigues me. No mistress or anything of the sort, before you start burying your head in the gutter."

"Tell me about her," Liam requests. "What's she like?"

Again, Killian hesitates before an almost adorable expression crosses his face. "Smart," he starts, "quick as a whip with her words. Beautiful, naturally, and closed off and altogether…" he pauses before shrugging. "Intriguing."

Nodding, Liam sighs. "How incredibly vague." He's forced to dodge a scrap of tortilla while laughing. "You have to keep me updated on this lass."

"I highly doubt they'll be anything to be updated on," Killian reveals, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"If you keep up with that attitude." Elbows on the table, Liam leans forward and whispers, "Go for it, little brother. You're interested in this girl? Go after her. Keep good form," he warns, "but pursue her."

0000

The brothers Jones stand next to Killian's Jeep, all packed up for the two-hour ride back to New London.

"Traffic is going to be horrible this time of day," Liam warns him, leaning his body against the open driver's side door.

"There's no such thing as traffic at home, brother," Killian says. "Surely you haven't been away so long for you to forget that?"

They're laughing when David approaches them, slightly breathless and smiling. "I'm glad I didn't miss your send off," he tells Killian. They shake hands, Killian going so far as to pull David into a hug. "Thanks for hanging out this weekend and dealing with my sister. I hope you had fun."

"A blast," Killian tells him. Liam sees that light again, shining just behind his brother's irises. "A right blast."

David nods. "Good, I'm glad to hear that." This time, he leans in for the embrace. "Don't be a stranger and good luck with the rest of the year." With that, he steps back toward the curb, waiting for Liam to join him in going back inside.

"Yeah, you too, mate," Killian yells. He directs his attention back to his brother. "I'll call you when I have to stop for gas and then when I make it back to Belle's."

"Good on you," Liam says. With a slap on his brother's shoulder, they hug again. "Be well, little brother," he whispers.

"And you, big brother." A grin grows on Killian's face as he settles into the driver's seat. Liam shuts the door as the car's engine revs to life. Arms crossed, he joins David on the sidewalk, stoic and silent. The Jeep carefully reverses from its parking spot – of the two of them, Killian's always been the more wary driver – and David and Liam raise their hands in a wave.

The wheel cover of Killian's jeep disappears around the corner, and both men's hands slap down against their thighs.

David sighs as he turns around, heading back into the dorm building. "Apparently my sister's into your brother."

"So I heard." Confused, David glances over his shoulder at his roommate. Liam shrugs, arms crossed over his chest. "Ruby texted me before she went to sleep and Killian was talking about this new 'intriguing' lass at breakfast."

Quiet ensues, following them into the building and up the stairs. The door to their room shuts resoundingly before Liam deigns to speak again.

"Are we going to meddle in their lives?" he asks

David scoffs. "Of course. Of all the guys she could have chosen, miniature you sure isn't the worst option."

"Your glowing recommendation astounds me, mate."

 **a/n: ooh, what kind of trouble are liam and david going to drum up? hope you're enjoying the story so far. as always, feel free to leave a word. until next time :)**


	4. Second (and third and fourth) chances

Their attempts are both sad and infrequent. The weeks after Emma and Killian's visit are hectic for everyone involved. The college students have final projects and exams. The high schoolers have AP exams and graduation activities to attend to. They've barely got time for a five minute phone call between siblings these days.

"Maybe next year," David says one night, akimbo on his mattress after his business exam.

"Yeah, maybe next year," Liam agrees. They both know it won't happen, but what sort of life is worth living without a spark of hope?

But graduations come and go – Emma all done up, hair curled, and Killian dressed to the nines, smile wide, 150 miles away – and college senior years come and go a year later. Killian takes special leave from basic training to see Liam walk across his stage. Emma finds enough time between her nose in a bio book and her hands in soapy dishwater at Granny's Diner to take pictures with David and his fake diploma. Jobs start and memories happen and life is moving on without a second thought to Emma and Killian getting together.

At this rate, the stars previously aligned in their favor will never be so again.

Until…

0000

The phone ringing isn't unexpected. Emma's train should be getting in soon, she'll either be lost or so sick of people that he'll need to fight traffic and pick her up. But it's Thanksgiving and he hasn't seen his little sister since…July, maybe?

It's been far too long.

"Honey, will you please pick that up?" Mary Margaret yells from the kitchen. "If I have to hear that stupid ringtone of yours one more time, I'm going to throw stuffing at you and then shove it down your pants."

"Why torture both of us, darling?" David responds, picking up the phone anyway. It's meant to be a joke, but even the thought of soggy breadcrumbs and vegetables around his parts is uncomfortable. An old friend's name is on his caller ID and now, even four years later, the man's an integral part of his life.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid you've called the wrong number," David says in greeting. "We don't take solicitors."

"Ahoy-hoy, mate," Liam replies. "Have you heard the good news of our pasta monster overlord?"

Laughter echoes through the mostly-empty apartment. "You'll have to tell me all about it tomorrow when I see that sorry mug of yours." David makes his way into the bedroom, shutting the door on his way.

"I look forward to sharing the word with another believer." The chuckles die down on both sides of the conversation. Then Liam talks. "Speaking of tomorrow, what's your plan?"

"Well." A knot ties up his throat, as it has every time David's tried to articulate it. Ever since Liam moved to New York a couple months ago and rekindled their friendship, weekly bar nights are commonplace. It's like their college years all over again – just instead of class, David comes from the police department and Liam comes from port.

Fiddling with the tassels on their bed quilt, he takes a seat before saying, "I had half a mind to propose to Mary Margaret tomorrow."

Silence follows his statement and it's beginning to unnerve him.

"Then I'm really going to see if I can inconvenience you any more than I already am."

Groaning, David flops on the bed. His original plan is apparently already shot to shit. What more can his old roommate do to this weekend?

"How so?"

Liam sighs. "You remember my kid brother right?"

Nodding, David puts his agreement into words. "How is Killian?" he asks nonchalantly. "Has he found a nice girl or is he still hung up on Emma?"

The pause on the other side of the line is a bit disheartening. He's about to take his words back when Liam says, "I honestly have no idea. But you can ask him yourself."

David's confused. "What do you mean? I don't have his number."

Again, Liam sighs. "Killian's just managed to take some leave for the holiday. He's in the bathroom right now. And I was hoping that, if it wasn't too much of an issue for you and Mary Margaret…"

"Don't worry about it. Christmas is probably more of a Mary Margaret romantic moment." Another, better plan is forming in David's mind, the wheels and cogs turning at a speed faster than they have in a while, causing him to sit up. "I'm fine with another person at the table," he says with a smirk. "Especially since Emma's on the train up here right now."

"No way."

"She should be calling me any minute," David responds. "Prepared to intervene?"

"I was born ready." Some noise crashes through Liam's end of the line. Grumbled unintelligible words barely make it into David's ear – something about pots and pans and _knock it the fuck off, little Killy_. "Congratulations, mate, by the way," he says when he comes back. "Are you sure there isn't something else I can bring for dinner tomorrow? I feel bad for ruining your big proposal plans."

"Just you and -" His phone beeps. David pulls it from his ear and sees another call is waiting – Emma's number. "Hey, Liam, I've got to go. Emma's on the other line, probably complaining about Union Station." Laughter floods through the connection and it warms David's heart because it feels like old time. "Go ahead and bring Killian over. Dinner's around five and don't be afraid to bring copious amounts of alcohol. God knows someone's going to need it."

"I was planning on driving into the city," Liam begins, but David shakes his head and interrupts.

"No, you guys can crash here. We'll figure it all out tomorrow." Emma's bound to be a firecracker now that he's made her wait this long on the phone. Mary Margaret might even tear him a new one, something along the lines of _your sister doesn't know this city, you're leaving her alone in the middle of it?!_ "You just provide your half of the plan and I'll provide mine."

Liam chuckles. "It's a deal."

0000

"Have you done it yet?" No greeting. Just curious, nosy Emma trying to figure out if she can finally call Mary Margaret his fiancée yet.

Sighing, David flicks on his turn signal and edges back into traffic. "No, not yet. I was going to do it tomorrow, but I don't think I will."

Even with his eyes on the road, he can tell his sister is flabbergasted. Her tone of voice – shrill and contemptible – when she screeches "WHAT?!" only proves it.

"David, you and Mary Margaret have been together for five billion years! You live together. Mom has a caterer, a florist, and a dressmaker on her speed dial." She sighs in frustration. "You were telling me last time we talked to each other you couldn't wait to make it official. What happened?"

He shrugs. Emma can't know the reason behind his proposal postponement. She'd never agree to him and Liam putting all their efforts on hold to get Killian and her together.

"Liam's coming over for dinner," David says. "I wanted it to be more of a family affair. No offense to him."

"Oh." Settling down into the passenger seat, his sister throws her feet on the dashboard. "I guess that makes sense."

"I thought it did." He reaches over the center console and slaps her knee. "But we can discuss that later when I actually decide to pop the question."

Emma scoffs, "You mean grow the balls. Nut up or shut up, buddy."

David knows she won't see it when he rolls his eyes because he's focused on the asshole who cut him off, but he hears her chuckle. The same blood might not run through their veins, but he knows his little sister more than he knows anyone else.


	5. Nothing a little surprise can't solve

There's been a lot of moaning and groaning in the apartment all day. While Emma relegated herself to the guest bedroom until the Macy's parade started at ten, Mary Margaret was up shortly after seven to get the turkey or the pies or whatever delicious food in the oven. The smells wafting through the small place are killing her.

"Ugh, Mary Margaret, it smells divine," Emma mumbles when she finally appears in the living room. She hasn't brushed her hair or her teeth, her pajamas are still askew, and her glasses are slipping down her nose.

"She's really something, isn't she?" David gushes, swinging behind his girlfriend to land a kiss on her cheek. Mary Margaret smiles, resting her hand at his waist when she sets the pies on the counter to cool. They're sickeningly gross, even more since they moved back down to New York City after college. It's a miracle David hasn't proposed yet.

With a disgusted sound, Emma flops on the couch and grabs the channel changer. "I know you guys are ridiculously in love," she acknowledges, "but if you wouldn't mind toning it down a notch for the innocent children in the room, that'd be nice."

A pressure drives on the crown of her head right before a gentle slap to the ear. "Innocent children, my ass," David says with a smirk. "Remember, you're on potato duty."

"Yeah, yeah." The Grand Marshall of the parade approaches the camera, so Emma waves her brother off. "I know what to do. Just leave me alone."

The morning passes in casual comfort. When she's not humming about the kitchen or he helping her, Mary Margaret and David join Emma on the couch. They talk and it's the epitome of what Thanksgiving is about: family.

The afternoon rolls around and action around Emma picks up. Mary Margaret insists that her boyfriend start decorating for Christmas, so David searches high and low for some lights to hang on their fire escape.

Emma, however, is tasked with the arduous chore of skinning, boiling, and ultimately mashing potatoes, as she did when it was just her, David, and their mother. It's one of her staple foods, one of the first things she learned how to make while still in foster care. Over the years, she's perfected the recipe enough – five pounds of potatoes, three pinches of salt, a heap of pepper, and a generous slab of butter – to casually smash them on the couch while watching the National Dog Show.

The judges are just about to announce the winner of the entire shebang when a knock sounds on the door.

"David, can you get that?" she hollers. It's stupid, she knows, but from what the commentator has been saying, it sounds like that stupid poodle is going to win, and she really thinks that the smug pug and his silly face and goofy tongue should win.

"He's in the shower," Mary Margaret shouts back. "Can you get it? I'm checking on the turkey."

Emma swallows the grumble that nearly falls from her lips. Her brother's girlfriend is working hard on what's sure to be close to a four-course meal and she is a guest. The least she can do is be a nice human being and open the door for Liam.

Carefully setting the pot on the counter, she brushes the potato pulp off her hands and heads to the door. Liam knocks again.

"I'm coming, hold up a second," Emma says. And then, under her breath, "Jeez, so impatient."

0000

Killian's fist falls to his side. This hallway has horrible air circulation, thus his knuckles are turning white and his fingers are icicles. Of course Liam had to forget the casserole they'd brought in the car, leaving him stuck climb three flights of stairs alone, carrying two bottles of wine and a six-pack. And of course he'd left his gloves in Annapolis. It's only the coldest Thanksgiving on record, with forecasts of snow some time before the games start.

He's just not the happiest officer on the ship.

It's frustrating as well: David and Mary Margaret are _Liam's_ friends, not his. He's the annoying little brother who apparently ruined proposal plans. He's expecting niceties and social small talk over dinner; nothing mind-blowing, but certainly a welcome relief from the crowds of midshipmen he's grown used to.

The only brief respite Killian thought he might get when his brother informed them of their holiday plans, he's not sure he'll actually get. Emma Swan never really left his head – always lurking over the shoulder of this lass at the bar or that one at the party. But when Liam told him he wasn't sure the bombshell would be in attendance at the holiday dinner, Killian's hopes sunk back to the stagnant hum they'd been at for three years.

He's about to knock on the door for the third time and head back downstairs – maybe he'd heard the number wrong or Liam drove to the wrong building – when he hears the lock slam back. Putting on a friendly smile, Killian prepares himself for the awkwardness that is sure to endure the rest of the night.

Boy, is he surprised when the door opens and reveals shocking blonde hair. It's long and messy, clearly uncared for today. The jeweled green eyes beneath them are hidden behind fringe, and, when they realize exactly who's in front of her, they grow wide.

"Killian?" she asks, her voice much higher than he remembers. "What are you doing here?"

There's a smudge of something white – potato or something similar, from what he can tell – that really accentuates her eye color. He watches her unconsciously brush at the dirty sweatpants and oversized shirt she's wearing before saying, "I was invited for Thanksgiving dinner. Or at least that's what my brother told me." Killian then waits a moment before pointing at his own cheek, right under his eye. "You missed a spot in your primping."

Emma's hand comes up and swipes at the potato on her face, smearing it further. She pulls her hand away from her face, gasps, and furiously wipes at her cheek until it's bright red and the food gone.

"I was not primping," she says stubbornly. "I was being useful and wanted to make sure I didn't leave potato all over my brother's charming apartment."

Her hands still fidget at her sides. Killian can feel the smile growing on his face as he looks at her nervous tendency. A flirtatious eyebrow raises quite on its own. "Come now, love, you know you needn't dress up for me," he quips. "You're gorgeous even with potato on your face."

Cheeks flushed red, Emma moans and steps back from the door. "Just come in, it's fucking cold and I want to pawn you off on my brother or his girlfriend."

Mockingly, Killian rests his hand on over his heart. "Darling, you flatter me," he teases her. He nearly walks in, but stomping on the stairs nearby stop him. Liam finally appears, huffing and puffing, cheeks red from exertion, casserole dish in hand. He glances up and throws a tired smile at them both.

"Emma! How lovely to see you! Happy Thanksgiving!" A cough overcomes him as he mounts the final step. Both Emma and Killian step forward with concern, but Liam waves them off. "Sorry. Just a bit of a cold I'm getting over."

"You mean the stairs were challenging," Killian corrects him. Being the closer of the two, Liam can reach out and slap him, which he does, right on the back of his neck, causing Emma to laugh.

"It's okay," she assures him, "you should've heard me after lugging my bag up last night."

"I'm sure it was much more respectable than me at this moment." Liam gestures to himself, made much more comedic with casserole in his hold. "I make a living out of carrying heavy objects around the docks and three flights of stairs wind me."

"Am I hearing this right?" David's voice comes from behind Emma's shoulder. "Liam Jones's weakness is stairs?"

Liam chuckles heartily, finally catching his breath. "Shove it, mate. Not all of us are ripped because our only workout is walking up the stairs."

Watching his brother and his old college roommate go back and forth in the banter makes Killian smile. He's become accustomed to more violent and harsh ribbing in the academy and on the ship, but these sorts of good-natured jokes and jibs are much more comforting.

It's only while their older brothers are laughing that Killian notices Emma's slipped away, leaving a shoe in the door to keep it open.

0000

"Oh my god," she mumbles to herself. Her head falls in her hands, her elbows on the countertop. "Oh my god."

"What's the matter, Emma?" Mary Margaret asks while wiping her hands on a towel.

"Killian," is all she says. "Killian's here and he saw me like," Emma points at herself, "this." She feels her cheeks heat up again. "Oh god."

"Calm down." Mary Margaret comes around behind her and rests her hands on her shoulders. "Why does that matter?"

"It shouldn't." Emma shakes her head. "It doesn't." She takes a moment to compose herself and then pushes off the counter. "I have to shower before dinner. Tell David he's on potato duty now."

Not allowing her friend to get another word in, she leaves for the guest bedroom. It's sanctuary at this point, the safest place in the entire apartment to sort through…whatever is going on in her head. When she gets there, Emma flops on the mess of covers.

He's grown up well. _Really_ well. Naval duties have done wonders for him. It's not like Killian wasn't attractive when they first met…was that three years ago already? And she remembers…she remembers going to that party and getting drunk. She remembers sleeping on Mary Margaret and Ruby's floor and falling asleep with the image of bright blue eyes. Those eyes had haunted her at odd times throughout the remainder of senior year and what's passed of her college career.

Emma pulls a pillow down from above her head and screams into it. Then she gets herself off the mattress and into the shower.

"If he's going to surprise me," she vows as she turns the shower faucet on, "I'm sure as hell going to surprise him right back."

0000

"You told me Emma wasn't going to be here, you wanker," Killian angrily whispers to his brother when he's done catching up with David. He slaps his older brother's arm. "What the fuck are you on about?"

Laughing, Liam hits him on the shoulder in a much friendlier manner. "I honestly didn't know, little brother."

Killian groans, making his brother laugh even more. "I am too sober for this."

"Don't ruin dinner," Liam chides him. "Mary Margaret's been slaving over the oven all day."

Lifting the turkey from the oven, the woman in question chuckles. "Don't worry about it, Killian," she says. "I know the academy isn't the easiest place to let loose."

"Mary Margaret, I am affronted at the thought," Killian says. "Only one beer before dinner. I don't want your hard work to go to waste."

He's already cracked open said bottle by the time Emma returns. It's cold from the time in the car, then in the hallway, and the few minutes they rested in the freezer after their arrival.

When his eyes land on her, Killian's very glad he'd decided on only one beer. Any more alcohol in his system and he's sure his censors wouldn't have held back any of the thoughts running through his mind when Emma walked in. Even with less than a half beer, his brain goes into overdrive.

He always thought her gorgeous – ever since she first stormed into his brother's dorm room – but the sweater dress she's wearing hugs curves he'd only felt back then. Her hair is still a little wet from the shower she apparently took, and her lipstick matches the same shade of red as her dress.

Killian is speechless, his jaw much closer to the floor than should be humanly possible. Emma's looking over the counter in to the kitchen, but once she's satisfied in her findings, she walks toward him.

"Swan," he mutters breathlessly, "you are… a vision."

Nonchalantly, she shrugs. "I know." She looks so unaffected, beguiling smile on her lips, hips swaying slowly as she stalks toward him. "Sorry about earlier. I didn't know you were coming."

"Worry not." Shaking his head, Killian nervously chuckles. "You weren't the only one in the dark of tonight's guest list."

Emma hums and glances over to the suspiciously empty kitchen. "Interesting," she remarks.

Following her gaze, Killian agrees. "Indeed." He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, summoning the courage to do something, _anything_ , that won't make him a fool. "What have you been up to?"

The grin she sends his way is kind, with just a hint of flirtation behind it. Otherwise, he'd think it's pitying.

"College, you know," she says. "How about you?"

She hasn't shut him down. A step in the right direction. Maybe these past years of pining won't be for naught.

0000

In the kitchen, the other three peek over the counter silently.

Liam and David fist bump triumphantly.

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes, but returns to dressing the turkey's plate.

 **a/n: Sneaky sneaky sneaky. As always, feel free to leave a word. Until next time. :)**


	6. Let the festivities begin

Dinner is full of laughter, food, and drink. David's old roommate heeded his warning and brought enough alcohol to warm them through the entirely too-cold weather. Mary Margaret's meal not only smells drool-worthy, but proves to taste much the same.

"Uhh," Emma groans through her first bite. "Mary Margaret, this food is going to kill me, it's so good."

"There are worse ways to die, surely," Liam quips.

"Remember that one time you threatened to disembowel me with a spornife from the dining hall?"

Killian nearly chokes on the bite of green bean casserole he'd been chewing. A couple pats on the back from Emma – Liam and David had both insisted on them sitting next to each other, "No, the hosting couple needs to sit next to each other, I'll sit at the head of the table" – frees up his airways to the guffaws that nearly killed him.

"A spornife?" he says, coughing. "A what?"

Conversation flows much the same – joking and teasing and complimenting Mary Margaret on her culinary skills – but the unspoken sentiments between Emma and Killian flare up throughout the meal, as both of their older brothers notice. The smallest comment catches their attentions: Emma giggling at a joke Killian's told to the table; Killian playfully threatening to smear potatoes from his own plate on her cheek.

Halfway through dinner, as Killian gets up to use the bathroom and Emma goes to get seconds from the turkey itself, David winks at Liam from his seat.

"This is going surprisingly well," he whispers over Mary Margaret.

"Swimmingly, if you ask me," Liam says over the cusp of his beer. "We'll be brothers by marriage in no time."

"Boys," Mary Margaret warns them as Emma ambles back with more food on her plate, "be careful what you say."

"What are you guys gossiping about now?" Emma asks. "I've met girls at hair salons less gabby then you two."

"Really, though," Killian agrees, scratching his head as he takes his seat. With a nod toward Mary Margaret as she sips from her wine glass, he asks, "Are you quite sure you fancy this lad?"

Chuckles simmer about the table and discussion picks up, flowing like the drink between them. David watches his sister intently listen to Kilian's naval escapades. Liam sees his brother perk up when Emma goes into detail about the intricacies of the human brain. And by the end of the night, those sitting around the table are a little too happy not to be tipsy, high off tryptophan and a nice chardonnay.

"David, Mary Margaret," Killian says, "I do hope my brother okayed the idea of us infringing on your space a little bit longer before he drank his weight."

It's Emma who answers – "They're fine with it, you guys can have the living room" – before throwing her hands in the air. "Dessert and _Home Alone_!"

Mary Margaret stands, taking her dirty plate in one hand and her boyfriend's in the other. "Let me just put the pies in the oven to heat up," she says from the kitchen. The clinks of dishes in the sink echo through the apartment. "Go ahead and get the movie ready. David, can you come unearth the ice cream from the freezer?"

"No, Mary Margaret," Liam calls to her, "you have done far too much for everyone here today." Standing up, he gestures to Killian, who does the same. "Killian and I will do the dishes. You just warm up dessert and then sit yourself on the couch."

Taking his plate, Killian happily enters the kitchen. As he digs through the freezer, David catches a glimpse of a blushing Killian leaning down far enough to press a kiss to his girlfriend's cheek and leave with a silly, giddy grin on his face.

"Don't get any ideas, Killian!" he bellows after him. The squeaks of shoes on the hardwood floors informs David his words are heard and caused the younger Jones to trip over his own feet – with a little help from his friend's inebriation. David finds the ice cream and sets it out on the counter to thaw while the Joneses parlay dishes and leftovers from the dining room table to whatever open space is left in the kitchen.

Emma's already on the couch, situated on one side of Mary Margaret and the remote loosely gripped in her hold, when David takes the open seat. "This machine has seen better days," she says offhandedly to no one in particular.

"If you hadn't used it as much as you did when you came for that long weekend, it might run faster."

"Shut up, David," Emma all but snarls. "You remember what college was like. I needed a break."

"Yeah, Dave," Killian shouts. Looking over his shoulder, David sees him swagger into the living room, a plate in each hand. He comes around the couch and offers one plate to Mary Margaret. "The timer went off, so I took the pies out and took the courtesy of cutting you a slice of apple."

"Why, thank you, Killian," Mary Margaret says. She's truly touched, if the way her hand comes to rest on her chest and her smile lights up the room are any indication.

"Hey, why don't I get any pie?" Emma asks petulantly.

Taking a moment to collect himself, Killian glares at her. All Emma does is beam, head tilted and resting on her hand, elbow resting on the armrest. Some more time passes before Killian sighs and reluctantly hands the other plate – the one, David assumes, meant for him – to Emma. Slowly, she takes the plate.

Killian places one hand on the back of the couch above her head and his other hand next to hers on the armrest. "You, Lady Swan," he whispers, "didn't get any pie because you weren't the one to slave over stove and oven all day for the wonderful meal we just ate." And then he pushes off the furniture and heads back to the kitchen.

"I made the potatoes!" Emma yells after him, but the words come out mumbled from the huge bite of pie she'd taken.

"Emma, don't talk with your mouth full," Mary Margaret chides. "You'll choke and a trip to the E.R. would really ruin this Thanksgiving."

David reaches for his girlfriend's hand and links their fingers together. She, in turn, leans her head on his shoulder and proffers her plate, silently asking if he wants a bite.

Killian returns, this time with his brother and his actual own dessert in his possession. Liam sits down in the armchair, leaving his younger brother without a proper space to sit. He settles himself on the floor under Emma's position on the couch – an action that doesn't go unseen by either of their brothers. Jokingly, Emma moves her knees so they push against the back of his head.

"Swan, do you mind?"

Pressing the play button on the remote, Emma shushes him. "The movie's starting, Killian."

He pushes her knees off his head, but she swiftly replaces them. They go on like that through the first previews until Liam crumples up a napkin and throws it at them. It pings Killian on the head and rebounds off into Emma's hand.

"Knock it off, children," he says. "We adults are trying to enjoy the movie."

"Yeah, knock it off, Emma," Killian mutters conspiratorially. "We adults are trying to watch the movie."

Emma slaps him upside the head.

0000

When the credits roll, both bottles of wine are empty, one of the pies demolished, and both girls are asleep. Mary Margaret is curled up next to David, her legs draped over his lap. Emma, on the other hand, is curled around the armrest, her one leg hanging over the edge of the couch onto Killian's shoulder and chest.

"I can get you guys some blankets," David says quietly. "Let me just get her into bed."

"Are they easily accessible?" Liam asks. "I can get them so you both can get to bed. You've already done so much for us."

But David waves him off. Carefully, he extricates himself from beneath his girlfriend, gently laying her head on the couch. He scoops up her body in his arms easily and adjusts her until Mary Margaret's head rests in the hollow of his neck. "They're in the closet in our room. I'll bring them out." He navigates around the furniture before nodding toward his sister. "If you could wake her up and get her to go to bed, that would be helpful."

He disappears through the bedroom door. Stretching out his legs, Liam closes his eyes for a second before standing up to wake Emma. What he finds when he opens his eyes makes him grin: even through the fog of alcohol that incases all of them, his little brother is ever the gentleman. Killian mimics David, rising from his spot on the floor and sweeping Emma into his arms.

He's halfway to the guest room when Emma inhales through her nose and regains consciousness.

"What's going on?" she asks, her voice shaky. Liam sees her head draw back to fully take in her carrier's face. "What are you doing?"

"Carrying you to bed." Killian hops a little bit, trying to keep Emma in his arms. "Unless you want to give your bed to me. I'm sure Liam wouldn't mind sharing the floor with a pretty lass like you."

Liam hears her grunt. He really wouldn't mind – Emma, to his knowledge, doesn't snore, unlike his brother – though he'd rather sleep in the bed if given the choice. But even in the half-lit hallway, Liam can see the moment Emma nestles further into Killian's hold. She doesn't put up a fight as he expected; just lets his brother carry her into the guest room.

David comes back with an armful of blankets. His eyebrows raise to match Liam's expression when he finds his old roommate the only person occupying the room.

"Where's Emma? And Killian?"

Chuckling, Liam comes up to David and takes a blanket. He spreads it open and lays it on the floor. "My little brother escorted your little sister to her room," he explains, "bridal-style."

"Really?" David stretches up and looks over to the ajar guest room door. And then he starts to laugh. "I can't believe it's actually working."

Taking the rest of the covers from his friend, Liam claps David on the shoulder. "We're geniuses, mate. Right top-of-the-class geniuses."

Killian appears from Emma's bedroom and together, the three of them set up the rest of the makeshift bed in silence. Liam disappears into the hallway bathroom and David watches Killian burrow into his bed for the night.

"Thanks, Dave," he grumbles. "Tonight was really great."

"I'm really glad you came by," David responds. But Killian's breath has evened out and his body gone slack. The poor kid's too tired to contemplate his actions, too young to hold his alcohol properly.

"He won't remember a thing come morning," Liam whispers at his side.

0000

Clockwork. It's three a.m. and Liam groans awake. Sleeping on the floor is not rewarding at all, but he supposes it's better than risking both his and Killian's lives by driving home in his intoxicated condition. Besides, the floor is carpeted and his friends have provided them with more than enough blankets to stay warm in the night.

Liam unravels himself from his cocoon to be greeted with two unexpected things. The freezing air is just a step short of showing him his own breath, and he is already dreading the short sprint from the carpeted living room floor over the hardwood floor to the bathroom. He quickly sucks in a breath through his nose. This is unpleasant, he thinks.

But the much more satisfying realization is when he returns to the makeshift bed to find it empty, no Killian in sight. It worries Liam for all of a second until he spots the slight light shimmering through the crack in the guest bedroom's door.

Emma's door wasn't like that when he went to sleep, his little brother tipsy and conked out on the floor already.

It may be the middle of the night, but it doesn't take a mathematician to put two and two together.

Pumping his hand silently in the air – a successful plan, if only three years late in doing so – Liam crawls back between his blankets.

"Reach for those stars, Killian," he mutters. "It's about time you got her."

 **a/n: two thirds of the way there :) i want to thank everyone's who has commented or favorited or followed or even read this story. (so basically if you're looking at this, i want to thank you). im oddly proud and happy with this story. feel free to leave a word. until next time :)**


	7. Go get 'im

She knows how to hold her liquor better these days. College has taught her a thing or two and knowing the biology behind her bodily functions and workings – studying pre-med has its perks – doesn't hurt. Besides, Emma is one of the people who studies and works really hard during the week: taking 16 credits this semester alone and working somewhere around 30 hours a week at Granny's. But those rare days where she has no commitments, Emma knows how to party.

Tonight, right now, she's enjoyably tipsy. She would have been really drunk – worshipping the porcelain throne, sweaty and disgusting – right now if she hadn't slept some of it off earlier that night. No, her nap on the couch was refreshing, working off some of the alcohol in her system and keeping her from falling straight to sleep again. Not that she could now that she knows the feeling of strong arms curving around her body, supporting all of her weight in his arms.

She's pleasantly buzzed – enough to know that the idea currently knocking around in her brain is probably not the best idea she's ever had, but too entranced by it to think of anything else.

It's been three years since she'd had a taste of Killian Jones's physical affections. Three years until tonight, maybe twenty minutes ago, when he effortlessly carried her from the couch. Once she'd woken up, she could've walked herself to bed. _Should_ have walked herself to bed. And what did she do instead? Settle further into the warmth his body exuded.

Some part of her is trying to send a message to her consciousness or her brain or something. The circuits just aren't lining up and the message is getting muddled in translation.

Emma scoffs, kicks the covers off, and rolls on to her back, staring up at the ceiling, hoping to whatever higher powers that she can make up her fucking mind.

The message that finally makes it through – the one she finally decides to act on – is _just do it_.

An hour passes before she eases out of bed. Creaking the door open, Emma surveys the landscape. Heavy snores emanate from the floor at the front of the couch. Even in the dark, she can differentiate easily between Killian's shaggy hair and his brother's curled locks once her eyes adjust.

Emma tiptoes around, the dark head of hair her beacon in the moonlit room. When she reaches his side, she kneels down at his head. If he were to open his eyes, the blue would look directly at the freckle on her knee.

Killian's breathing is soft, causing the blanket beneath him to ruffle with each breath. Some of his hair falls across his brow and into his eyes. Subconsciously, Emma gently brushes back the bangs from his face. Sleep makes him look so much younger than the years she knows he's lived. She knows from David and brief discussions and even little looks that he's had it just as rough as she has.

But he's survived. He's become successful at the academy and she knows he'll go on to graduate and become the best at whatever he's doing in the Navy. She's happy for him: she's happy _with_ him. Or at least the few times they've spent together she was.

His bangs fall back into his face, forcing a giggle from Emma's lips. She brushes them back again. This time, his nose scrunches up in his sleep. It's quite endearing. So much so that she can't help but bend forward and press a quick kiss to his cheek. Maybe it's the alcohol still running through her veins that makes her do it, but she can't say she'll regret it come morning.

He stirs, sleepy eyes and all. His eyes meet her knee, just as she predicted, and it takes him by surprise if the inhale he takes is an indication. Emma quickly places her hand on his cheek to calm him, a finger going up to her lips to silence him. Killian nods and easily sits up.

"What's the matter, Emma?" he asks. His blue eyes are alert, as if something might be amiss in the apartment. "Are you okay?"

She nods, "Yeah, of course, I'm fine."

Brow raised in smirkish question, Killian whispers, "Then why did you come out here and wake me when you should be sleeping yourself?"

Emma hesitates, then shrugs. "I was lonely?" she says quietly.

That catches his attention. "Were you now?" His voice is scratchy, rough from his unconsciousness. "And how do you suppose you solve that problem?"

"I don't know." She shrugs again. "Maybe you want to come and check under the bed for monsters or something?"

Killian's grin grows exponentially. "I would eat my own feet if it meant I didn't have to spend another minute next to this snoring arse."

Emma feels her smile spread wide across her face as she pushes herself to standing with the help of the couch. She offers Killian a hand up, which he casually takes, but doesn't let go. Emma withholds her giggles until they sneak to the threshold of the guest room, she leading him by the hand.

"So there's the bed," she says quietly, pointing at the object. "Can you just..." With a roll of her wrist, Emma expresses her uncertainty. There is a man – a handsome, sassy man who she may or may not have been interested in for years – in her room and for as experienced and educated on the subject of sex as she is, Emma hasn't a clue on how to proceed. "I don't know, make sure the coast is clear?"

"I'm sure it is," Killian assures her, "just like it was when I brought you in here not too long ago." Cautiously, he backs her up until she's seated on the foot of the bed before he joins her. "What are you really up to, Swan?"

"I don't know. I really don't know." Emma flops back, her arms spreading wide and the blankets flying up beneath her. "I was lonely and the only person I could think about was you…"

"And why is that?"

Springing up into a seated position, Emma whispers-shouts, "I don't know, Killian!" She groans and rubs her eyes. "Christ, I thought you were studying engineering or marine life, not psychology."

Killian laughs. His hand comes to rest on the bed between them. "I just want to know what you want from me." He leans forward, approaching the barrier of her bubble space. "I want to know if you invited me into your bedroom to sleep with you or _sleep_ with you, or neither of the above. Because I will do whatever you bid me."

She can't help herself: his words are so kind, far kinder than she deserves for waking him from slumber and dragging him into her room. "I just…" Emma hesitates. "It's been, what, three years since we shared the floor? And then you carry me to bed tonight after showing up out of the blue for dinner."

"You're just stating facts, love," Killian says through a chuckle. "Get to the point or else I'm going back to sleep."

Emma sighs. Her hands drag down her cheeks as she faces him head on. "You helped me. That night at the party. I fainted on the dance floor and you were there and you caught me, but I never got to say goodbye or thank you."

"I know."

"I just…" She inhales deeply to gather courage. "I feel like we missed an opportunity there."

He smiles almost sadly. "I know."

"And now we're here," she starts, slowly. "We're older and a little wiser and a little stupider and I hope we're both still a little drunk…"

"Don't say that, love," Killian interrupts her. "If you say that, then I'll feel even worse about the thoughts running through my head right now."

She shrugs. "I don't know."

"Emma." The way he says her name is – she hates to say something like worshipful, but it sounds like that. "Emma, look at me." Again, his tongue wraps around her name, an embrace to help her through whatever problem she's trying to parse through. His fingers crawl over her skin, up her knee to where both her hands lay. His hand is warm on top of hers, comforting.

"Are you trying to say you want to make up for lost time?"

"I guess something to that effect," she says with a nod.

"Are you sure?" Emma tilts her head to the side. He wants to make sure _she's_ sure and it makes a sappy smile cross her face.

It's quickly washed away when Killian abruptly stands from the bed and pulls her by the hand upright as well. Emma stumbles a bit into his chest. No comment passes either of their lips, but something has changed between them. She can't help but ponder it as he leads her to the side of the bed that's already untucked. Without a word, he gestures to the open spot. She sits in the bed, legs crossed, and watches him crawl over the bed to get to the other side. He gets under the covers himself.

"What in the world are you doing?" she asks, trying and failing to keep the laughter out of her voice.

"Making up for lost time." He scoots closer to her, until their knees touch. He opens his arms wide. "Want a repeat of our one fantastic night on our brothers' dorm room floor? I've been told I give fantastic hugs."

This time, Emma doesn't hold back her laughter. Instead, she leans forward and wraps her hands around his neck, her forearms on his shoulders. Killian's eyebrow raises in question. It takes all of Emma's willpower to stay on her current track of action and not physically force that silly expressive brow down with her finger. None too gently, she pulls him into her, until their lips meet, far overdue.

"I was thinking something better," she mutters against his smile.

"Oh," Killian murmurs. "I am more than amiable to that."

 **a/n: YAY THEY'RE FINALLY TOGETHER! TAKE THAT, LIAM AND DAVID.**

 **As always, feel free to leave a word. Until next time :)**


	8. Aftermath, part two, with some bacon

He could still use more sleep, but his mother taught him to be courteous when guests are in the house, so David feels the need to get up and make sure his sister and both Joneses are properly fed breakfast. Yawning and scratching at the back of his head, David scuffles in to the brightly lit kitchen to find the couch occupied.

"Morning, mate," Liam says kindly, clicking through the TV channels with the remote. "Have you guys got a channel guide?"

"Yeah, it's 10," David responds. His friend hums and from the kitchen, he can hear the dulcet tones of the Food Network playing in the living room. The grinding and humming of the coffee machine quickly overpower it, the contraption being right in front of David's heavy eyes instead of behind him.

A few minutes pass and the magic of electricity has perfectly brewed coffee being poured into two mugs. David takes a drink from his cup as he takes the other into the living room for his guest. Liam gratefully accepts it with a nod.

As he goes to take his seat, David comes to the realization that he hasn't caught a glimpse of Killian since he came out of his room. Then he realizes that's because there _is_ no Killian in the living room. Liam is _alone_.

David's blood begins to boil. He knows this is – in theory – what he wanted for his sister and his friend's brother. But the reality of Killian and Emma sleeping – or _sleeping_ – together under his roof has him break into a cold sweat.

He's trying really hard not to freak out.

"Where's Killian?" David tries to ask nonchalantly. Even he can tell he isn't hiding it well.

Liam chuckles into his coffee mug and shrugs. He jerks his head toward the closed guest room door. If David had to guess – though he doesn't have to because he knows – that second bedroom door is locked up like Fort Knox.

"I think our scheme actually did work." His friend's eyes are too bright when he emphasizes the sentence with raised brows, smug grin, and a slurp of caffeine.

It's too late to change the past, David knows, but he's regretting everything about this operation, from conception to enactment.

"I hate this plan," David grumbles. Shaking his head, he sets his mug on the coffee table in front of them so he can throw his hands safely up in the air in frustration. "Whose idea was this in the first place?"

Scoffing, Liam says, "Yours."

"But that's my sister in there!" David quietly cries. His hand flies toward the offending room, carelessly of what might come in the way or who currently sleeps – or doesn't sleep – in it.

"And my little brother." Setting his cup on the coffee table as well, Liam relaxes into the couch cushions. "Emma's in good hands, David. Killian is nothing but a gentleman. That's how we Jones men were raised."

It's David turn to scoff. He picks up the remote and flips to the channel guide. "Great," he commiserates sarcastically, "that completely puts my mind at ease."

0000

It takes two more hours for the occupants of the guest room to appear. Pancakes and waffles are already on the table, along with orange juice, an array of fruit, and some scrambled eggs beneath an upturned plate. Just as David had surmised, more than one person slept in the room last night.

David is standing at the stove next to Mary Margaret and Liam checks his email on the couch when they hear the tell-tale creaks of the guest room door. A bewildered Killian stumbles out, roused by the scent of the bacon cooking. His sex hair is evident and a blush spreads far across his face when he realizes the living room is full. One glance at his brother has Killian running to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.

Liam laughs from the couch. "If this is what parenting is like, I can't wait."

Breakfast preparation continues until Killian comes out of the bathroom. Sheepishly, he takes a quiet seat at the table, patiently awaiting food and company. He looks so embarrassed. On his way to the fridge, Liam claps his brother on the shoulder, which deepens the color of red painted across his cheekbones.

Mary Margaret giggles into David's shoulder. David grunts his confusing mix of displeasure and approval: in a twisted sense, he _did_ want this. But he also wants to lecture, scream, and punch Killian because, if anything, he's Emma's big brother. That's what he's supposed to do, what he has done, since a heartbroken and lonely pre-teen Emma came home with him and their mom.

Conversation is saved for later due to a much less repentant Emma appearing from the guest room. Her pajama shorts, in David's opinion, are much too short. Her hair flows free, tangled, over her shoulders. Overall, she looks happy – _really_ happy.

Which only infuriates and puzzles him further.

Emma makes direct eye contact with her brother as she crosses the room to sit herself in Killian's lap. Arms wrapped around his neck, she kisses a still-surprised Killian, who is slow to reciprocate. But when he does, he doesn't hold back.

"God, Killian, do you have to do that at the breakfast table?" Liam groans as he takes a seat.

Joining his friend, David nods furiously, setting his coffee cup down. "I agree. Not when we're about to eat."

Reluctantly, Emma pulls back, pressing her forehead to Killian's. David catches what he thinks is a little eskimo kiss between them, their noses brushing against each other's in an oddly sweet action.

"Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, love," Killian mutters, just loud enough for their brothers to hear, "but might you consider a little less affection in front of your brother and mine?"

Emma smirks and happily shakes her head. "Nope." She pops the P recklessly. "They've had this plan in motion since we stayed the night in their dorm room."

"WHAT?!" Emma jumps at the scream David and Liam release. Together, their jaws drop, dumbfounded.

Much more calmly, Killian's eyebrow raises in question. "Have they really?" he asks of the girl currently sprawled across his legs.

Nodding, Emma adds, "So now they get to see the results of their hard work and secrecy come to fruition right before their eyes."

Killian unleashes a hearty laugh. "Oh, I do enjoy that train of thought of yours, Swan." He leans in to kiss her again, barely gets to press his lips to hers when Liam, suddenly appearing behind him, smacks him on the back of the head.

"You bloody wanker!" he yells. Emma's forced to duck from the wild gesture Liam makes in his frustration. "Nearly four bloody years we've been trying to get you together and you fucking know!"

Emma's laugh wracks her body, has her reaching out for the table's edge to keep herself upright. "You guys don't understand," David manages to parse out between her chuckles. "You're _horrible_ secret keepers. I heard you guys last night through the wall and Mary Margaret kept mentioning Killian in all of our phone conversations."

"Guilty," Mary Margaret admits as she sets the plate of bacon on the table. Killian nuzzles his nose into Emma's neck, making Mary Margaret aww. Across the table, the former roommates share a look.

"I don't like this idea anymore, Liam."

"I couldn't agree more, Dave."

 **a/n: THIS IS THE LAST REAL CHAPTER. THIS STORY IS TECHNICALLY OVER. WHAAAAAT. Worry not, though: there is an epilogue, which will be posted this week. So you'll get a better conclusion. You're welcome in advanced.**

 **Thanks to all of you who have read and commented and favorited and yadda yadda yadda. Getting your notifications always makes my day. Thank you so much. As always, feel free to leave a word. Until next time :)**


	9. Epilogue

The end of Thanksgiving celebrations come to a close just in time. Another moment of his sister making doey eyes at the younger Jones and David might have been drawn to murder, going against everything he stands for as an officer of the law.

Instead, when he shuts the driver's door of his car at the train station, he decides to focus on anything but Emma's love life. Instead, he decides to rework his own.

Though David decided there was something special about proposing at Christmastime as he told Liam, he ends up putting it off again. It seems too contrived, too expected. So December passes as it had in the past: two Christmas celebrations – one with Mary Margaret's family and one with his mom and Emma – snow, romance, and nights curled up on the couch beneath a ton of blankets.

And then January sneaks by somehow. New Year's flashes by with a cold night spent on the edges of Times Square, leading to dark days and brutal weather. Liam texts him at least once a week asking if he's done the deed, berating him when he, once again, tells his friend he hasn't.

His excuses span the gamut: he feels weird not asking her parents for permission – not that their opinion would persuade him otherwise. He needs to make sure Emma's fine with Mary Margaret as a member of their family. He hasn't had the time to come up with some elaborate romantic notion to propose like she wants him to.

"You know she's going to say yes, mate," Liam tells him in a phone conversation sometime in mid-January. "She's stayed with your sorry arse for years. It'd be a shame to say she's wasted so much time."

David believes the same thing, but it still doesn't mean he isn't a mess whenever a seemingly perfect moment to propose presents itself.

It's a late February evening when he finally does pop the question. They're walking home from dinner in the middle of a snowy street, small flakes swirling from the darkness of the hour to the light of the streetlamps. The ring box has been weighing down his pocket these last couple months. Her hand is wrapped around his, warmth soaking through the fabric of their gloves. There's just something so satisfying about this moment, something…right.

Holding her back on the yellow dividing line, despite the cold that seeps through the hems of his pants, David goes down on one knee. Mary Margaret cries with happiness, saying she doesn't want to wait another minute.

"What do you mean?" he asks, rising from the melting frost beneath him.

"Let's get married." She's wiping the tears away from her eyes and sniffling, but the bright smile spread across her lips betrays her true feelings. "Right now."

David chuckles. "We can't, honey. Everything's closed."

"Then tomorrow," Mary Margaret suggests, hopping on the balls of her feet. "We'll go to City Hall or wherever and just do it."

"But…" He trails off. She's serious about this; he can see it in her eyes. Dead serious. "What about a wedding? You know, white dresses and cake and waltzing around like a princess? You want that."

"I do, I really do, but I want to be your wife more." Mary Margaret tugs on his hands, pleading with him. "We can have an actual wedding later, plan it all out and everything, but I just-"

"I get it," David chuckles out. When his girlfriend – no, his fiancée – gets really excited, she reverts to childlike tendencies: pleading, pouting, fidgeting. It's adorable, but Mary Margaret hasn't pulled out those tactics since he threatened to sell her Easy Bake Oven, which still resides in their kitchen cabinet and still gets used on random occasions. "Really, I do. I'd do anything because I love you so much."

She grins, a cat who got her cream. "So we're doing it?"

Nodding, David assures her. "We're getting married."

"Tomorrow."

But on that matter, he's not completely sold. "I don't know about that. What about next week?"

"David." It's another whine, but her voice quiets as she pulls out her phone. Stepping away from him, Mary Margaret busily dials a number. As she puts the phone up to her ear, she points at him accusatorily. "I'm calling Ruby. You call Emma and Liam and whoever else, but just the bare necessities."

"But what about Mom? What about your parents, and Regina?" he asks.

Mary Margaret waves off the question. "Later. It'll be a nice surprise next time we see them." She turns her back when Ruby apparently picks up and quickly starts muttering into the speaker.

His apparent dismissal forces David to scrounge in his pockets for his phone, pressing Emma's speed dial contact. It's close to midnight on a Wednesday, so the chances of his sister being up are either really high – studying for some microbiology exam or other – or really low – passed out after days of studying for the aforementioned test.

Her voice is sleepy when she answers the phone. "What the hell, David? Why are you calling? What's wrong?"

"I proposed to Mary Margaret," he breathes out, discouraging the snowflakes from falling in his eyes. "She said yes."

"WHAT?!" There's a shuffling sound on her end of the phone, some mumbling as David assumes Emma sits upright. "Of course she said yes! I told you! Congratulations, big brother! Ahhh, this is so exciting." She disappears for a minute, but he can hear an "Ooh, sorry." The springs of the lame rental-provided mattress give way and the clunk of a door shutting shortly after. "I woke up my roommate. This is so exciting!"

"Yeah, it really is," he snickers. "There's only one problem."

"What?" Emma gasps. "Oh my god, David, is she pregnant? Is that what made you finally propose?"

"What? No!" Glancing over his shoulder, David looks at his fiancée, still wrapped up in her conversation with her best friend, and gulps. "At least, I hope not." His mind's eye can't help but imagine toddlers running around their apartment – raven hair and green eyes, driving their parents absolutely insane with how much trouble they are and how much they love them. But David sighs and returns to the land of the present. "No, Mary Margaret wants to get married tomorrow."

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah, she wants to go to the courthouse tomorrow."

"But what about her whole fairytale wedding thing?"

"I asked the same thing, but she was insistent." Running his hand through his hair and unsettling wayward snowflakes, David shakes his head. "We both really want you to be here. Do you think you could get up here at all tomorrow? I know you have classes and stuff, but-"

"No, I'm coming," Emma says determinedly. "My brother and his true love only get married once and I am going to be there for it. I'll email my professors when I get back to my room and I'll book the first train back to New York."

David pumps his hand in triumph before following Mary Margaret to the sidewalk, out of the way of the only oncoming car they've seen in the past hour and a half. "Thanks, Emma. I can't wait to see you."

"I'm excited," she says. He hears the tell-tale groan of a door through their connection. "I love you, David. Send my love to Mary Margaret and I'll text you my train details."

"Good plan. Love you too, buddy. I'll see you tomorrow." And he ends the call.

Mary Margaret grabs him before he can find his old roommate's contact information. "Ruby can't make it tomorrow. Can Emma?"

"Yeah, she's taking the train as soon as she can." Mary Margaret nods and threads her arms through the crook of his. Her head settles on his shoulder as David dials Liam. Deciding to play around with his friend, he doesn't tell Liam the specific details. A rough voice answers, and in his most ominous voice, David says, "Courthouse, tomorrow afternoon. Clear your schedule and meet me there and it'll all make sense, I swear." Then he powers down his phone.

"You didn't tell him what's going on," Mary Margaret notes.

David shrugs. "He's been bothering me ever since I told him I wanted to propose at Thanksgiving. A few more hours won't kill the guy."

0000

In the end, David's the one most surprised. As she said she would, Emma texts him the details of the first train she can arrange, which doesn't come in until early afternoon. David tells Mary Margaret and, though she's somewhat sad she has to wait through the morning, asks that everyone just meet at the courthouse as soon as his sister's train gets in.

David's sleep is restless with excitement, as are the few hours he spends at work the next morning. To everybody else, it's a regular Thursday and they expect him in the office. He's taken the afternoon off to properly celebrate his rather rapid nuptials with those he loves and those who know.

At his request, Mary Margaret shows up at the station, smile wide and bright, to walk to the courthouse together. They run into Liam at the front steps. He's looking at his watch, his arms crossed and shoulders hunched from the cold.

"What is this about?" he asks, greeting Mary Margaret with a kiss on the cheek. Liam grips David's hand. "Who needs to be bailed out? This better not be a waste of my vacation time."

"We're getting married," Mary Margaret tells him. Her hand comes to daintily rest on David's chest, such a loving gesture. "He proposed last night and we couldn't wait."

"You couldn't wait," he fondly reminds her. Looking up to his friend, David gulps and says, "Liam, mate, you wouldn't mind being my witness, man of honor person?"

Contrary to the devastation David expected, Liam claps him on the back and laughs. "Man, I have been waiting years for you to ask me that. Of course, it would be my honor."

David's barely out of a monstrosity of an embrace with Liam when his phone vibrates. It's a text from Emma, saying she's just around the corner and she'll meet them inside because it's so cold. They go into the courthouse lobby and thaw out. When his sister walks in, she's not alone, and that's the biggest surprise of them all. Oblivious to her brother's slackjaw face, Emma runs to Mary Margaret and hugs her tight, the unexpected Killian quick on her heels to greet his brother.

"Congratulations, you guys!" Emma shouts into David's ear as she hugs him. "This is so exciting!"

"What is Killian doing here?"

Pulling back from his arms, Emma shakes her head as if he's the mad one. "He was there when you called. I wasn't going to leave him alone in my apartment."

"Why was he in your apartment?" David asks, but then he corrects himself. "Why was he in your apartment when I called _last night_?"

"We..." From the look on her face, he can tell she's omitted something. Something big, if it is what David thinks it is. She looks to Killian, stricken. "Oh. Oh, I was so excited about you guys getting married I forgot you wanted to keep it secret."

Killian wraps his arm around her shoulder. "Worry not, love," he assures her. "We're here to celebrate your brother's marriage."

"Yes," Liam interjects, "which we should get on with so we can all start properly celebrating this happy occasion."

0000

What can barely be called a ceremony is quick: the judge sees them promptly, reads them the vows, has the newlyweds and witnesses sign the marriage license, and then sends them off with well-wishes for a long and happy life together.

David is euphoric, Mary Margaret exuberant. The judge is nice enough to add in the _you may kiss the bride_ part for their sake, which Mary Margaret – his _wife_ – enthusiastically acts on. Their witnesses chuckle because it's so like her to do that.

They all decide to go out for a late lunch and it's there that David finds out his little sister is actually happily no longer single. In the few months since they've seen each other in person, Killian and Emma have gone above and beyond what their elder brothers could have ever hoped for. He's transferred his hands-on internship to a station in Rhode Island, often staying over at Emma's apartment because Newport is a half hour from Providence and he never wants to sleep without seeing her. She's planning on attending medical school wherever he ends up being stationed, which Killian's narrowed down to bases on the Eastern seaboard, thank god.

"We might even be able to stay around Newport, maybe live in New London," Emma nonchalantly says into her wine glass.

"Although I don't understand why you guys wouldn't even consider Hawaii." Liam's remark is met with four separate expressions of displeasure, ranging from sarcastic scoffs to raised eyebrows to exaggerated eye rolls. "What? It's Hawaii, for god's sakes! You could literally live on the beach!"

"But then we wouldn't be able to see your ugly mug, brother, as often as we do now."

Liam scoffs. "Yes, you would." If possible, Killian's brows rise further up his head. Liam, on the other hand, shakes his head. "Are you kidding me? I would visit you an obnoxious amount of times a year."

"With what money?" David jokes.

Liam hits David on the shoulder. "Think of it: Christmas in Hawaii." His arms spread wide, as if painting the picture of palm trees and barrel waves in the air in front of him. He sighs contently, lowering his arms to the table. "It would be amazing."

"But what about a white Christmas?" Emma asks. "When was the last time we actually had a white Christmas?"

"Exactly," Killian declares, emphasizing it with a fist to the table top. "Can't very well watch a movie about snow on Christmas when there's no hope for such."

Their banter continues – back and forth over the absolute stubbornness Liam perceives of his younger brother and his girlfriend for not jumping at the chance to live in paradise. David, on the other hand, is still processing the news: his little sister has a boyfriend, the younger brother of his old college roommate. They planned for them to get together. He wanted this.

He sees Mary Margaret lean over to whisper something in Emma's ear and, all of a sudden, all he can imagine is another wedding – not the public celebration he and his wife are sure to have later in the year, but that of Emma and Killian. Of walking his sister down the aisle, handing her over to Killian's waiting hand. Of playing the father figure and older brother he's always been to her. And for some reason – he figures it's the conversation going on around him that he's barely conscious of – they're all wearing leis.

"David?" The voice of his wife – _wife_ , he has a wife, he's _married_ – breaks him from his thoughts. "Are you okay?"

He smiles, wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her chair closer to him. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

From the corner of his eye, he can see Killian adopt a similar stance with Emma, and it simultaneously warms and hardens his heart. They're moving quicker than he wished they would, but he can't recall seeing his sister ever be this delighted.

"They'll be fine," Mary Margaret mumbles into his shoulder. "They're happy just like us."

"Yeah," he sighs, kissing the top of her head softly. "Yeah, they are."

 **a/n: That's all folks! Thanks for sticking with this story, whether you hopped on at the beginning or somewhere in between. Special reminder shout out to my beta Cathy for reading and editing this entire story in one fell swoop.**

 **As always, feel free to leave a word. Until next time :)**


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